Walking the Edge of a Very High Cliff
by BeckySharp
Summary: Lucius Malfoy behaves very, very badly. Are Severus Snape and Viviane Chance up to his challenge?


**Walking the Edge of a Very High Cliff**

By BeckySharp.

_Viviane Chance (real name, Devereaux):  romantic partner of Snape.  From an aristocratic French family, she saw the destruction of her school and family by Death Eaters and spent much of her early adulthood tracking them down and killing them.  She is now teaching at Hogwarts, and is cultivating Draco for information._

_Cordelia de Winters:  Sister of Narcissa and best friend of Snape, she and Lucius were lovers during school/after, but parted when he decided to marry her older sister for inheritance and prestige's sake.  She and Sev leave the Death Eaters and work together as spies, but, years ago, Viviane killed Cordelia when she recognized her as a Death Eater.  Severus found the body, but no one ever knew who killed her._

_Years later, when he and Viv are lovers, he finds out she did this and it nearly wrecks their relationship.  They reconcile, but it is a sore point between them._

Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape  belong to J.K. Rowling.  Cordelia and Viviane are my creations.

She was betrayed by my fool of a son. For some time I'd thought that he was finally showing the stuff of which he was made - my intelligence, Narcissa's drive, our ambition. His schoolwork, usually dismal, drastically improved, and he even betrayed a spark of interest in something besides stupid adventure books and torturing small animals. 

It happened at breakfast. Narcissa, doting mother that she is, had Draco home for a few days as the result of a spurious complaint about sniffles. We were all sitting around the table, and I'd just buttered my toast when my owl dropped a letter from Professor McGonagall next to my plate. I gave Draco an initial glare of irritation and he quailed - great Merlin, how he makes me want to, well, never mind, but a Malfoy should never quail - as I opened the envelope. 

To my profound surprise, it was full of praise for the boy, noting an especially well-written Transfiguration essay, and evidence of much practice in the practical classroom work. I glanced back up at Draco, whose fear had morphed into surliness as he scowled down at his plate, the corner of one eye fixed warily on me. I gave him a rare - how I hated the fact he gave me so little reason to do so - smile. "So, Draco, Professor McGonagall tells me you're doing well. A pity it is such a singular occurrence that it warrants a letter, but nonetheless….congratulations." I paused, waiting for his demand for a new toy or a sum of money, as his mother raced around the table to smother him with an embrace, but he remained silent, blushing slightly, still staring at his plate. "Draco?" I queried, interested at his failure to claim reward. 

"I- I- thanks," he stuttered, and got up to leave the table. It was then I knew that something else was going on, and the chill down my spine told me it wasn't good. 

"Sit," I barked at him, causing him to drop back down into his chair. I moved to my Potions cupboard, unlocked it, and took out my vial of Veratiserum. I caught the eye of my wife, who nodded slightly and left the room. For all her doting ways, Narcissa is, at heart, a practical woman. Adding the potion to a glass of milk, I thrust it towards my son. "Drink." 

He did, without protest. I still don't know whether I would prefer it if he made at least a pretense of defying me. "Who has been doing your lessons for you?" 

"No one," he said, his voice dull but his eyes radiating terror. 

_No one,_ I thought. _It can't be true. I'll blast Severus for palming off a useless…_ Then another possibility occurred to me, and I whirled back around to face him. 

"Who has been tutoring you? Flitwick? McGonagall? That werewolf? That damnable wizard Dumbledore?" I was shouting by this time, each possibility worse than the last. He shook his head and whispered "No." 

"Who? Who was it then?" I was prepared for just about anyone. Vector, Sinistra, Trelawney, even that idiot Hagrid, anyone but- 

"P-Professor Chance." 

I felt behind me to grasp the edge of the table. _"Professor Chance? Viviane Chance? Viviane Devereaux? That…that-?"_ I was nearly gasping in shock. 

"Yes," mumbled my stupid, gullible, impressionable, and, knowing what he knew, very _dangerous_ son.   


~*~*~

I let him go to his room without many more words. What could one say, in a situation like this? Only that it had been going on for some time, and Draco was smart enough, or scared enough, not to tell anyone. I knew I'd never get the entire - damn it, even the beginning of, the story out of my son, because he didn't have the perceptiveness or the judgment to begin to figure out what was really going on. I paced the dining room, a good place for pacing. A long room, its dark paneling now flooded with sunlight, with heavy sideboards convenient for the trailing fingers of those lost in thought. My very unpleasant thoughts were interrupted when Narcissa quietly glided back into the room and up to me. "Lucius?" was all she said, her gray eyes scanning mine. 

I felt my lips tighten. "It appears our son has been spending hours on end, being tutored by that bitch Viviane Devereaux," I snapped. She fell back, and I could see how I must have looked to Draco upon hearing the news. 

"What was he thinking?" she gasped. "He knows full well who she- what she-" 

"Yes, I know," I said. "He's finally found someone who scares him more than we do." My wife took my arm as I began to pace again, and she measured her steps to mine. I tried to calm myself by watching how the sunlight caught the gold of her hair, but nothing so banal was going to steady my humming nerves. 

"Your plan is?" she asked. 

"Find out what that woman wants from our son, assess the damage - what there is of it - and take the appropriate steps to prevent it from happening again." 

Narcissa turned sharply to face me, and captured my other arm. "Lucius, don't be too hard on him. He's a good boy, he only needs-" 

I saw her indestructible love for Draco shining in her eyes, despite her knowledge of what he was, and I realized with a sinking heart that the one person who could carry the House of Malfoy into the next generation could also be the person who tore the entire structure of the building apart. 

"I know what he needs. And I will take care of this little problem in my own way. Now, go to him and see if he'll sob out any useful information. I need time to think." Dismissed, she left me to my thoughts and my plans.   


~*~*~

I had to talk to her in order to find out anything, that much was obvious. And our meeting needed to take place here, on my territory, not surrounded by that group of pestilent nonentities at Hogwarts. I allowed myself a brief smile as I considered inviting Severus to dinner, and surprising him by extending the invitation to his mistress. Severus, Merlin help him, thought he had us fooled, but anyone could see she had him chained firmly to her sword belt. 

What he saw in her I could not imagine. Overgrown, hatchet-faced, messy-haired woman who would just as soon take off your head as give you some. _Well_, I thought, _perhaps she was equally good at both_. 

I forced myself to stop speculating on the unattractive pair and began to consider how best to lure her to my home. From everything I'd heard, good wine and some sort of challenge would do it. I wrote her a note. 

_Dear Professor Chance, _

_My son Draco has informed me of the extra pains you have taken in helping him with his schoolwork. I would love to discuss his continuing progress over a bottle of the most exquisite Burgundy that is crying to be released from my wine cellar. Will tomorrow evening suit, around eight o'clock? _

_Lucius Malfoy_

Not an hour later I got a reply, discourtesy of that falcon she harbors. The wretched bird nearly flung the letter at me, and defecated on my favorite carpet before disappearing out the window. I tapped her letter thoughtfully, amusing myself by speculating on how she had taken up my gauntlet. Being who she was, I knew she couldn't resist doing so; it was her method that held the possibility of intrigue. I stared at the golden snake, glowing faintly amidst a splatter of dark green wax. "Devereaux," I snarled, as I cracked the seal and read the following: 

_Dear Lucius Malfoy, _

_Conscientious Professor that I am, I would be most pleased to discuss the academic performance of your son. And I would hate to deprive the Burgundy of its chance at freedom. I'll see you at eight-thirty. _

_Professor Chance_

Gauntlet caught in mid-air. I laughed in anticipation, tucked her note into the farthest recesses of my desk, and went to send my wife and son to some relatives for a few days. Transactions with Devereaux tended towards the bloody, and I didn't need my family to be called up as witnesses in a Ministry investigation.   


~*~*~

I adjusted my robe so that the folds fell more gracefully from my shoulders, and smoothed the shimmering gray velvet over my chest. The color reflected my eyes and brought out the glints of silver in my hair, by calculation; I decided it might be wise to remind her she was no longer dealing with an easily impressionable child. One would think she would have the intelligence to remember that, but from what I'd seen and heard of her, she was entirely capable of forgetting such things. Stepping back and gazing critically at myself, I had to admit I was an exceptionally handsome man. Mind you, I know this sounds vain, but it's merely an objective statement, an assessment of one of my strengths. I acquired the trick of ruthless self-assessment through years of dealing with Riddle and the idiots with whom he surrounded himself. Riddle. Damn him and his overweening ambition and his foolhardy stupidity in moving too soon. Even unvoiced, such thoughts were dangerous, and I swept them from my mind. 

A silver and sapphire belt set off my narrow waist, and I added a matching ring to the pinky next to the finger bearing the Malfoy signet. I looked what I was; a powerful, wealthy, well-born and dangerous wizard. Not one to be trifled with, especially by a half-wild French aristocrat-cum-professor-ex-smuggler. I thrust my wand firmly into my belt, but my fingers lingered on the smooth wood, anticipating a need to use it, longing for the excuse to release that beautiful green light – light aimed at _her_. The clock began to chime eight, disturbing my stimulating train of thought, so I walked towards my study. She had set her own time one-half hour later – a silly play in the game, utterly meaningless – but I thought it best to be ready, just in case she was merely trying me. 

Entering my study, I began to walk about the room, and I noted all of the objects that were precious to me, that displayed my importance, my power, my place in the world. For in spite of Lord Voldemort's defeat, I still retained these attributes, to the fury of that pompous fool, Dumbledore. The Malfoy crest, carved hundreds of years ago, hung over the fireplace. My racing broom, on which I won so many Quidditch matches for Slytherin, was propped carefully in the corner behind my desk. The testimonial books, heavy with calfskin and gilt lettering, that lined the bookshelves, received with thanks from grateful organizations ranging from elite Dark Arts societies to St. Mungo's charity board. 

I paced about until I heard her knock at the door – a civilized knock, that surprised me – and I heard a house elf admit her. The echoes of long strides rang up to me as she crossed the marble foyer. The hair rose on my arms. 

Moving to the fireplace, I rested on elbow against the mahogany, then considered receiving her as I sat in my favorite armchair. She was taller than me. But no, she would see through that instantly and no doubt favor me with one of her irritating smirks, so I remained where I was. 

The door to my study opened silently, and she was there. Her haughty, repellent features wore, as always, a combination of smugness and surprise. Every time I saw her I evinced a nearly uncontrollable longing to wipe that expression off her face, and once I did succeed. One of my favorite memories, that, telling her the details about her parents' sorry deaths. 

On her way across the room, she had paused underneath the chandelier, no doubt to let the light play upon her coiled hair and the sinuous folds of her green robe. It was narrowly cut and superbly tailored to enhance her admittedly fine figure, but I knew what lay beneath the material. Scars. Disgusting, disfiguring scars, thin lines of raised flesh that she'd dared to show off the last time I had invited her to a gathering at my home. Scars acquired in her war against me and mine. 

Viviane Devereaux, my ancient and current enemy and enemy of my house. Enemy of my son. Rage shook out the last of the anticipation I'd been feeling, and I could barely address her in polite terms. "Professor Chance." I indicated a chair next to the fire and sat down in the one opposite. "Do be seated," I said, the soul of courtesy, merely a concerned father having a chat with one of his son's professors. She moved from beneath the chandelier and sank into the chair opposite me, her nondescript green eyes searching mine with a mockery that fury made me unable to address. 

"Cornelius," I called into the fireplace. "The burgundy." My venerable house-elf appeared with the tray, and, tapping out the cork, poured the wine. The old dolt spilled a drop on my antique Afghanistani carpet and, setting down the bottle, dutifully gave himself several good smacks on the head. "Bad Cornelius," he intoned. I caught the Devereaux woman's sniff of disapproval. The hypocrite. Her father had often used house elves that displeased him for sword practice, but the official hagiographies omitted that fact as a matter of course.   


~*~*~

We both sipped the perfect wine, eyeing each other warily over the rims of the Venetian crystal goblets as the complex bouquet swirled around our nostrils. The perfect balance of the glass was most welcome, because it helped disguise the effort I was making just to keep my hands from trembling. Neither of us spoke, and the tension between us built into a miasma that I began to fancy would ignite from the heat of the fire. She broke the silence by an appreciative murmur from the back of her throat, wordlessly praising the wine. I finally put down my goblet. "Professor Devereaux, I appreciate your attempts to tutor my son, but I demand that you leave him alone once class is over. I-" 

She dared to interrupt. "He needs it." Rising from her chair, she began to walk about the room, rolling her glass between her hands. I watched her, wondering what part of her agenda she would reveal, and whether there would be a particle of truth in it. 

What she finally said shocked me, for its blunt honesty could not be mistaken. "I rather like Draco – he's at a disadvantage at Hogwarts. It's a good school for those with the bold intelligence of a lion, like Granger, or the plodders, like Cedric Diggory. But Draco has the intelligence of a cornered ferret, and it isn't nurtured like it should be." She grinned at my snarl of disagreement. "Ferrets are highly intelligent, and when cornered, can be dangerous – most dangerous." 

I stood up. _Clever_, I thought,_ but too transparent._ She was underestimating me, thinking that showing an honest interest in Draco would deflect my rage at her manipulation of him. "Do not compare my son to a rodent," I snapped. "You're wasting your time trying to cultivate Draco for information he does not have. I know the lot of you think Dumbledore wields more power than Merlin himself, but I still have much influence amongst the Hogwarts board members, most of whom are scandalized by your behavior. I can get you removed-" 

"Dumbledore?" Standing at a window by this time, she threw her head back and laughed, a deep, throaty sound with more than a hint of cynicism. "He'd probably thank you – I'm not his favorite witch by any means." She turned to me. "Why should I waste my time with Draco for any reason beyond pity, when it's quite obvious Voldemort, and you, and your kind will be defeated in short order?" Her smile disappeared into another sip of wine, and the moonlight caught the rubies in the eyes of the serpent dangling from her ear, making them sparkle. 

That is when it happened. I'd seen it before, many times. Almost every girl in Slytherin House used Glamours from third year on. Their ambitions did not stop with being Head Girl and first in their classes – they also wanted to marry as well as possible. Glamours smoothed complexions, thickened hair, brightened eyes, involving hours of practice and maintenance in order to snare the best possible mate. I learned, though, how to see through them. It was a turn of the head and a look out of the corner of the eye – in that moment you could see the real person behind the Charms. You could glimpse the splotched skin and the limp hair and the dull eyes. It was the reason I fell in love with Cordelia and married her elder sister, Narcissa. They disdained Glamours – in their gorgeous arrogance they knew they didn't need them. 

Looking at Viviane Devereaux in that moment, the process was reversed. Inexplicably, I saw beyond the awful manners, the gaucheries, the scars, the mistakes, her scattered, thoughtless violence, and recognized the clear-sighted, confident, steadfast, magnificent woman at her core, the woman who had stayed the course with her head high and her spirit somehow unbroken despite all we had done to break her. The ugly Glamour she'd thrown around herself, on purpose or not, was one I that no longer regarded. I was dazzled by her effortless pride, the result of centuries combining the best blood France had to offer. 

It was terrifying, this sight of my enemy who was suddenly revealed to be more powerful and simply _more_ than I'd ever dreamed. All the plans I'd drawn up for this meeting and its outcome drained away, and I couldn't remember a single detail of them. I was undone. I blinked, and another feeling slammed into me. To my utmost distress, I recognized it as desire. I wanted her, wanted her badly. I wanted to test this new person in the most intimate way. 

"Lucius?" Viviane was looking at me quizzically, her hand dropping to her sword hilt. This is what I had wanted at the beginning of this meeting, to provoke her to attack. I knew her temper, and attacking the parent of a Hogwarts student in his own home would involve her in endless complications, if I didn't have to kill her in self-defense first. Oh yes, the Avada Kedavra was one of the Unforgivables, but she'd given the Ministry plenty of trouble, and I'd bought enough justices that my trial would have been short and the outcome certain. I'd laughed, planning this out, thinking about myself and that insane old wizard, Moody, on the same side for the first and probably the last time. 

That option no longer appealed to me, but no other plan suggested itself. In a panic, I pointed my wand at her and shouted, "Stupefy!"   


~*~*~

The echoes of my shout died away, and I stared, appalled, at the crumpled form on my carpet. The confusion didn't last long, though, and I began to laugh, partly at the absurdity of the situation and partly from pleasure at the myriad options, one more pleasurable than the next, now open to me. 

I circled her, my arms crossed, delaying the moment when I would touch her. Most men in this situation would merely tie her to the bed, Ennervate her and have their way, but plunging about in a woman merely to hear her scream always was too crude a method to give me much pleasure. During our rise to power, it had sometimes been necessary to make a point, but seduction of the unwilling is a far more elegant sport, and one at which I excelled. 

Gazing at her, I wondered just what Severus felt for this woman. Had he, also, seen beyond the façade, or were they merely amusing themselves with the only person who would put up with the other? Did Viviane have him in her toils, trying to manipulate him as she tried to manipulate my son, and had it worked? That possibility, one that I hadn't considered yet, jolted me back to something like sanity. Riddle would be unhappy if I lost Snape completely to Dumbledore. I flung myself upon my knees next to her and grasped her jaw, but her staring eyes and her set, unlovely features told me nothing. Desire shook me again, as I thought of taking that which Severus thought he had. I hated him, the way he looked down his considerable nose at myself and my family, while he played on Dumbledore's penchant for lofty forgiveness and condescending protection with a performance of snarling abasement. 

Desire tenfold shot through me as I imagined myself letting him know, in public and at the worst possible moment, just where some of Viviane's scars ended. Should I seduce her and Obliviate the memory, then let Severus realize, through the most oblique of comments, that I had intimate knowledge of places I should not have been? And let Viviane, in all innocence, deny everything, breaching their trust that much more? Or should I let her keep the memory - and it would be an unforgettable one, I would see to that - and let her conceal it until I made it far too clear to Severus that I….. 

I sat back on my heels, and picked up her hand, one of her best features. It was unscarred, and the line from her narrow wrist to her long, slender fingers was exquisite. I traced my tongue down one of the delicate bones at the back of her hand, the one that had slain friends, family, lovers. I thought back on the vision of her I'd caught, the one that had momentarily blinded me to what she had done, and the rage came back to blend into the desire, but I was no longer sure just what it was that I wanted.   


~*~*~

Whatever I decided to do in the end, the first business at hand was disarming her. I unbuckled her worn leather swordbelt – one would think the Devereaux had more pride than to keep wearing that ratty thing – and, along with her wand, locked them in a trunk. Picking up my goblet, I toasted the unconscious, unarmed woman on my floor. "To you, Viviane Devereaux. You've never looked lovelier." Exhilarated enough to laugh at my own feeble joke, I knelt back down beside her, then after a moments' hesitation, swung one leg over to straddle her thighs. _This shouldn't be difficult,_ I thought. _After all, she's been bedding Severus Snape. The woman will probably be grateful for a man with decent breath and a few sweet words at his disposal._ I ran my hands over her breasts and down the long line of her waist. _Not bad, not bad at all – a pity she looks better clothed. It will be an effort to try and disregard those revolting scars._

I looked over at the wine, and was relieved to see more than half the bottle left. It would help to soften what resistance she might have, and perhaps help me perform my task with more enthusiasm than the object warranted. Getting up, I poured us both a full goblet of the Burgundy, then Levitated her onto the sofa. I sat down next to her and bent forward, whispered, "Ennervate," then pressed my lips to hers. 

Not surprisingly, she responded to my kiss for the space of a breath before she remembered who I was. She pulled away from me in shock and tried reaching for her wand, gasping in dismay when she found her swordbelt missing. Before she could say a word, I gently placed my fingers on her lips and assumed a puzzled expression. "Isn't that the proper way to wake a sleeping princess?" I whispered, and replaced my fingers with my lips, digging my fingers into her hair and slowly becoming more insistent with her. 

She resisted me. I finally gave up and moved away from her, allowing her to struggle to a sitting position; she never took her eyes from my wand. "Here," I said, handing her her full goblet. "Still unadulterated." She managed a slight giggle before she took a sip. "Touché," she commented. "And why, Monsieur Malfoy, did you insist on dropping me with a Stunning spell?" 

I sighed and shifted, allowing my robes to reveal my excitement, then looked away from her as if overwhelmed by some strong emotion. "I – you are – you are – not the woman you seem, and I- " I let myself fumble to a stop, and suppressed a smile, knowing how potent the combination of truth and deception could be. "I still want you to stay away from my son, but-" I took her hand and, turning it over, let my lips brush the underside of her wrist. "-I was quite unprepared to discover that I do not want you to stay away from me. Quite the opposite, in fact. Do you think two old enemies could declare a truce in one part of their lives, while keeping their daggers drawn in another?" I laid her hand against my cheek and closed my eyes - or seemed to. I have extraordinarily long lashes, for a man. 

I watched her glance first at the wand in my belt, give up on trying to get it from me, eye my crotch with a suppressed grin, then survey my face for any hint of the game being played. Turning my head a fraction, I could almost watch the woman I'd seen for those brief moments morph into the tough, lawless bitch I knew, and back again. It was most unnerving. 

She finally reclaimed her hand, but gently, and leaned back against the arm of the sofa, sipping her wine, with a grave, thoughtful look upon her face. "You are bartering the return of my sword and wand, against the use of my body, is that it?" she said slowly, lifting her eyes to mine. "As a Malfoy, I'd hope you would find that a poor bargain." 

I must admit, she seemed forever capable of surprising me, and I laughed in genuine amusement. "I would have thought so, an hour ago, but" - I moved closer to her – "something has changed, and I've been taken by as much surprise as you seem to be. Surprised and, yes, I'll admit it, dismayed I may be by my reaction to you, I recognize the truth of how close hate and desire can be. Does it take being a Death Eater to understand  that?" 

In her eyes sparked the first hint of erotic fascination, and she did not protest when I slid my arms around her waist, drawing her to me. She sighed as my lips met the junction of her neck and shoulder, the tension draining away as my hands traveled luxuriantly up and down her back, my fingers lightly brushing just below her waist before rising again. Her skin smelt marvelously of fragrant grasses, and I began to hope that this might end in pleasure for both of us.   


~*~*~

Viviane's head was thrown back, resting on the arm of the sofa, and her eyes were half shut as her body stretched beneath mine. She was humming softly in her throat while her tongue worked its way from my neck to my ear, and her languorous immersion in the moment, so different from Narcissa's frantic need, made me forget everything but the desire to take her further into erotic trance. Her hands explored the muscles of my back through the velvet, fingers gliding over my spine, making me arch against her with increased urgency. "My sweet Devereaux," I murmured, my voice muffled against the swell of her breasts, "truly worthy to be the mother of kings." 

What had I said? Only the kind of thing any woman would thrill to hear. But the effect on her was astonishing. 

Her body stiffened, her head jerked up and before I could soothe her back into her former sensuous mood she fought out from beneath me. She lunged for my wand on the table where I'd placed it, well out of her reach, but I lashed out with my foot and knocked it even further away, and, rolling off of the sofa after her, tried to trap her against the floor. She fought like a nundu to get free of me, and began to rage as I pinioned her arms and sat on her knees, rendering her immobile. 

"You bastard, let go of me," she hissed. "Don't touch me, don't touch me, _get your hands off of me_," her voice rising to a shriek. 

She'd gone mad. Her eyes glowed like the ends of wands just after releasing the Mosmordre and she spit out her words with venom that even Riddle couldn't match. "You stupid, blundering man, you and your petty, mindless hangers-on had best enjoy your days, because they're numbered. I'll trample you in the dust before you even lift one foot off the ground, impotent, useless, plebian nouveaux, already defeated once, telling each other desperate lies-" 

I slapped her, slapped her with all my strength, and the impact of skin against skin echoed through the room. Unfortunately, I'd let go of her arm, and she clawed at my face, one of her unkempt nails nicking my eye, partially blinding me, the others slicing skin. I felt blood begin to trickle down my face and total blindness possessed me, composed not of blood but of rage. I felt a fool, an idiot, like everything she'd just called me, and I lusted to prove to her I was master. 

Stunned by the blood and the pain in my eye, I'd sat there, blinking, while she got free of me and ran towards the door. Snapping out of my shock, I retrieved my wand and pointed it at her. "Avada-" I began. She stopped and turned to face me. My fingers tightened on my wand as I wiped the blood from my face, thinking of the beautiful green light and that satisfaction I would feel as it collided with her wretched body. Walking towards her, I smiled. "Ah yes, a Devereaux never wants to die with her back to the enemy." Her face remained impassive. "Your sword will be a pretty trinket for Lord Voldemort." That got a reaction – she began to breath faster, but still stood, straight and proud, yet negligently, as if being threatened by the Killing Curse was a daily event. _Damn her, _I thought, hesitating. _Perhaps I can get more out of her some other way._ Her arrogance reminded me of that other arrogant fool, and suddenly the game I could not fail to win came to me, all steps mapped out in glorious clarity. I needed only to set up the board. 

Dragging her to a chair, I took my wand and bound her to it by wrists and waist. I smiled at her as she sat there, writhing in fury and spitting language fit for trolls, while I made an elaborate show of sitting at my desk and pulling out paper and a quill. Plan one had changed into plan two that slid into plan three and now here I was at plan four. Well, this one would make up for all. I penned a pleasant little note to my dear friend at Hogwarts: 

_Severus, _

_I need you at my house, now. I don't care what Potion you're brewing, I don't care what class you're teaching, I don't care what meal you're eating. Now. _

_Lucius._

I summoned Ares, my fastest owl, and sent the note off with a sigh of deep contentment and a feeling of anticipation so intense that I could barely refrain from bursting into a Quidditch victory song.   


~*~*~

Turning back to my charming prisoner, I mulled over the various states in which Severus could find his doxy when he arrived. Dead would be preferable, but I had decided that that would involve too many complications, and it was too fast to be much fun. _A fine state of dishabille would be delicious_, I thought. No man wants to see his mistress just separated from the body of his…friend? Enemy? I would find out which Severus was before this night was over. I'd make sure his French madwoman would bear the signs of both a fight and a surrender. 

I released Viviane from her bonds and demanded that she rise, and step forward, keeping my wand pointed at the base of her long neck. She did so, contempt for me in every movement, and I circled around, finally standing behind her, a steadying hand on her shoulder. _Petrificus Totalis, my love_, I whispered in her ear, and she went rigid. Exchanging my wand for a dagger, I placed the tip at the base of her spine and slowly wriggled it about, making a hole in the fabric of her gown. The dagger began to slide up her back, the fabric parting to show her disfigured skin and finally falling away as the knife completed its journey. Shivering with pleasure, I slid my hands around her naked waist and up to momentarily cup her breasts, my arms pulling the edges of the rip yet farther apart. Great Merlin, the sight was enough to make any man's desire run cold. I nerved myself to trace the scar that disappeared onto her left hip, noticed another to the right of the crease in her proud back, ending in the curve of her buttock. Laughing, I promised myself a Sunday afternoon of creative thinking about just how and when I would impart my knowledge to Severus, in case he didn't entirely believe the scenario that would soon meet his unprepared eyes. 

After I repaired the rip in her gown and released her from the Petrificus, I bound her again to the chair, and considered the front of her. I no longer had any intention of taking her – who but someone as twisted as Severus would want to - but I could easily convince him that I had. It would be a source of unending satisfaction, to watch him burn with humiliation and anger over something that had never taken place, something that I had planned and controlled from start to finish. And she – she would spend the rest of her hopefully short life wondering…. 

She seemed to have run out of words and merely stared at me, her face showing nothing but the livid marks of my slap. I walked over to her and traced them with my finger, then dropped my hand to the clasps on the front of her gown, small golden serpents that I flicked open, one by one, revealing her breasts. I shoved her gown further down her shoulders, noting the length and placement of scars, then, kneeling, reached under the skirt of her gown to remove her more intimate clothing. 

I'd forgotten to bind her legs, and I didn't even see the knee that connected full force with my chin. My teeth crashed together with a sickening crunch, and I fell backwards, colors and patterns careening around in my head as I tried to control my heaving stomach. In a few moments I came to, her mad laughter sounding in my ears. Moving my jaw around to make sure it still worked, I, in one stride, inserted myself between her knees. Jerking her head back using a fistful of hair, I leaned over to whisper, "Bad move, Devereaux. Why antagonize the man who holds your life in his hands?" 

She continued to laugh, the harpy. "Because it was _fun,_" she replied. 

Exerting every bit of self-control I possessed, I tightened my grip on her hair, pulling slightly, and said, "I am going to remove your underclothing. If you move a muscle, you are dead. Do you understand me?" My voice sounded strange, beyond calm and certainly not matching the emotions ricocheting crazily through my body. She actually stopped laughing and quailed a little. Victory. 

I knelt down once again, this time leisurely running my hands up her legs, making sure she felt every touch, prodding her knees further apart with my arms, then trapping them against me with my elbows. It gave me the leverage to slip my hands underneath her thighs, to stroke the long muscles, and find my way to her hips, my left hand automatically searching for the scar I had found earlier. My fingers met, not silk, like I had expected, but the finest linen, softer than silk, subtler, far more erotic. It electrified me. I leaned forward and captured her exposed nipple lightly with my teeth, then gave it my full attention with tongue and lips as my fingers began to wander elsewhere. She shuddered, but I knew repulsion was not part of the equation, as it probably was with…. 

Damnation. He'd be arriving any time now, and I still had work to do. Abandoning my immediate pleasure, I began to prepare for the long term. Roughly, I removed her underwear and tossed it into a drawer of the desk – it was quite evident that at some point this evening, Viviane had enjoyed herself very much indeed, and the stiffened linen would make a nice gift for Severus. Stepping back up to her, I began to pull her hair about, destroying the Staying Spells and letting it tumble about in just-bedded confusion. By this time her haughty expression had cracked, allowing her mouth to slacken and her eyes to droop with unwilling fear and half-satisfied sexual craving. 

She looked ravishing, and very much ravished. I retrieved my glass of Burgundy and sat in my favorite armchair to savor the undoing of my lovely Devereaux. Oh yes, and to wait for the arrival of Severus Snape.   


~*~*~

She didn't say a word, beyond an initial query: "What will Narcissa say about your new study furniture?" 

When I didn't answer, she lounged back as best the ropes would let her, and transferred her gaze inward. I could tell she was refighting some kind of battle, and I watched, fascinated, sipping my wine as grief and triumph flickered alternately across her face, lending it a strange beauty her features normally did not hold. It was then I saw what might attract Severus, that emotional ascetic – the privilege of watching this creature in her unguarded moments. Isolated as he was, she must be an exotic form of new ingredient to study at length. 

I was only halfway through my goblet when I heard it – Severus' impatient knock. At the sound, Viviane sat up and the color drained from her face, leaving the marks from my fingers even more prominent on her cheek. "You didn't-" 

I smiled gently at her. "Yes, I did." Her lovely hands gripped the arms of the chair, and I had a fleeting regret that I hadn't tamed them to my service. _It is of no importance,_ I thought, _Weightier matters than the touch of a woman's hand are at issue._

Severus' whispery footsteps crossed the foyer and glided up the staircase. Once again I was tense with anticipation, only this time it ran far deeper, fraught as the moment was with so many possibilities. I turned to the door, wanting to impress on my mind his expression as he saw his paramour, bound and disheveled, and quite obviously at my mercy. 

A house-elf flung the door open and Severus stalked in, leaning forward in impatience, no doubt feeling aggrieved at being interrupted by my paltry concerns. He caught sight of her, and his steps slowed to a halt. "Professor Chance?" he queried, the soul of polite interest, but I could sense his devouring concern.   


~*~*~

"Severus," I greeted him, pulling forward a chair, and offering him the still-full goblet of Viviane's wine. "Do try to enjoy it - one of my best vintages." 

He ignored the chair, accepted the glass, and then put it aside. "Why do you have a Hogwarts professor bound, and, obviously, er…" His eyes took in her gaping bodice, the marks of my lips upon her breasts, her unbound hair, and their hard glitter dimmed just a little. She looked up at him, straining forward against her bonds. "Severus," she whispered, "this isn't-" Her silly attempt to explain was cut short by a screech, as I blasted her shoulder with a Burning Spell. "Be quiet," I ordered. "You are the object of this conversation, not a participant." 

As he gazed at me incredulously, I watched Snape quiver between hard-won control and his natural instinct to lose his temper. He controlled it. 

"She has been 'tutoring' my son, attempting to gain information which he does not have. I've tried to teach her a lesson, but she's as obdurate in mind as she is pliant in body. But you know that already, don't you?" 

She tried to interrupt. "Severus, it isn't what-" 

I pointed my wand at her. "_Shut up_, or it won't be a simple burn, next time." I gazed at Snape through narrowed eyes, trying to gauge whether his subdued reaction was the shamed anger of a cuckold, or the cold rage of a man seeing the woman he loves bound and ravaged, or perhaps, wordless frustration at her stupidity. I couldn't tell. 

He turned to me, looking down his nose with that expression that always made my fingers move towards my wand. He'd be getting a lovely gift of household linen tomorrow, I decided. "What were you thinking, Lucius, to…attack…a Hogwarts Professor? You've gone too far this time-" 

"Too far?" I bit my words off before they were barely out of my mouth. "Too far? This Hogwarts Professor is meddling with _my son_, trying to turn him against his father, his upbringing, his birthright. You are supposed to protect him from this sort of interference." 

He shifted his gaze from Viviane, taut with anxiety, to me. "I think this conversation would best be held elsewhere-" 

Delicious. He was afraid of confirming all of the suspicions she must hold about him. I refused to let him be a coward. "No, we'll stay here." 

Giving a short sigh of resignation, he went along with my game. "She's been meddling with Draco?" Comprehension chased impatient exasperation in his voice. 

"Yes." I walked over to Viviane, circling her chair. "I invited her over here tonight, to demand she stop her subversive little ploy, and things got interesting, most interesting, but then spiraled…out of hand." Making a great show of pointing my wand at her heart, I pulled her hair away from her neck and leaned over to press a lingering kiss upon her skin. She started a flinch, but caught it midway through and froze. Trust a Devereaux to vacillate between useless bravado and horror over unwilling desire. 

Turning back to Severus, I smiled and raised an eyebrow at his strained mouth and taut hands. His eyes gave nothing away. _Death eater or pretender?_, I wondered. _With us still, or twisted away by the combined wiles of Dumbledore and this woman?_ Glancing between him and my fetching captive, I wondered just how far I could go to find out, without pushing him to desperate acts.   


~*~*~

In the end, I decided on elegant simplicity. "As I recall, you had the most effective Cruciatus Curse amongst the lot of us," I commented. "You haven't used it in some time, I imagine. Here's a perfect opportunity to for you to practice." 

He made no move towards his wand. "Lucius, I am not about to risk the loss of my position at Hogwarts, and a possible Ministry inquiry, to give you a few moments of pleasure. Do it yourself. I'll watch, if you insist." 

_Was that distaste I saw flicker across his face?_, I thought. _Has he lost his appetite for torture, or is it reluctance to torment this particular person that is staying his wand?_

Giving him a resounding slap on the back, I grinned at Viviane, who was wide-eyed, alert, but slumped in her chair, and said, "Just like old times, eh, Severus? But you must do the honors – I insist. I have so missed watching you work. I'll take care of any Ministry complications, should they hear of this, and don't worry, by the time Viviane leaves here, she won't be talking." Leaning into him, I whispered, "I suggest you make up your mind to this. My entire confidence in you depends on just how painful a Cruciatus you can command. I'd hate for such a brilliant _former_ Death Eater to lose his last contact to Lord Voldemort." 

His narrow lips compressed into a tight line. "You're walking the edge of a very high cliff, Malfoy," he whispered. 

"I have been for some time," I retorted, "by publicly maintaining friendly relations with you. Payback time, Severus. Now take out your wand and let me see your very best Cruciatus." 

An odd sliding sound made me turn my attention back to Viviane, who was frantically pushing her chair backwards across the room, her feet scrabbling for traction on the shining surface of the parquet. I began to laugh as the back legs of the chair struck the edge of a rug and she gave up, looking at Snape with eyes that would make nearly anyone but a Death Eater shrivel. "Are you sure you want to do this, Severus," she asked. "Remember the state in which you found Cordelia."   


~*~*~

Breathtaking. Astounding. I had to sit down. If what she implied was true, this crazed woman tied to a chair in my study had killed the woman I'd loved, the woman Severus had probably loved. I'd never known _Severus_ had been the one to find Cordelia's body, but he couldn't have known about her defection after she'd found out Narcissa was pregnant, after our shattering encounter when I told her our affair was over, or could he? He was on our side, and Cordelia had been betraying him, or had she second thoughts and remained in the fold, and he had been betraying her, or had they both been betraying me? 

At the time, I'd only been furious because someone had taken the opportunity to kill Cordelia before I had the chance to do it my way…gently, before Voldemort could torture her out of existence, sweetly, so my face would be the last thing she saw. And now I found that the last thing reflected in Cordelia's gray eyes had been this cursed Devereaux, who possessed a seemingly endless aptitude for turning the best-laid plans to chaos. I nearly wept with frustration - I could not see my way out of this Chinese-box nightmare of past and present, loyalties and betrayals. 

Until I lifted my head and caught sight of her again, disheveled and still giving Snape that bent-for-hell glare. He had finally taken his wand out of his belt and was pointing it at her, but from where I was sitting I could not see his expression. Vaulting out of my chair, I grabbed a fistful of robe and yanked him around to face me. "Do it," I ground out between clenched teeth. "Do it, or I'll assume your allegiance has been permanently and completely turned away from us. And make it good, or I'll finish off the job myself, and I mean _finish_." 

I thought he was going to hit me. With utter repulsion curling his lips back from his stained and crooked teeth, he tugged the material of his robes from between my fingers. "Stand back," he whispered, and whirled around to face Viviane, gracefully raising his arm to point his wand at her chest. 

"You bloody coward," she snarled. "Did you always tie your victims up first, or were the others given a chance to defend themselves? I doubt it, weak fool that you are, hiding behind Dumbledore's beneficence. You'll only see the inside of Hogwarts once more before getting thrown out, and then you'll have to join Karkaroff in Durmstrang. I never thought that broken lizard would turn out the better man-" 

"Crucio," drawled Severus, and a memory of past times, powerful and heady, merged with the present as Viviane's body strained against the ropes when the green sparks connected with her exposed skin. I'd forgotten how good Snape was at the Cruciatus Curse, how beautifully he controlled the intensity and rhythm of the spell. Her keening voice filled the room to the very corners, but it didn't bother me; I was too busy watching her body rise and fall with the waves of pain, head twisting about trying to escape the torture. It was rather like watching a woman in the throes of the most powerful climax imaginable. Sex and death, indeed. Or _Le petit morte,_ as she would phrase it.   


~*~*~

Severus' face was suffused with hot joy as he watched his mistress writhe underneath his power in a way she probably never thought possible. I'd forgotten how it was…I had forgotten the sweetness of playing seduction against torture. Well, it shouldn't be too long before I could freely have that pleasure again, and until that time I enjoyed watching Snape torment the woman who had cost me so much. He was still ours. 

Her voice had gone rough, her body fighting less violently, and Snape was about to release the fading Devereaux from the spell, when I tried one last test. I doubted anyone could fake the noise she had been making, but I had to be sure. Pointing my wand at the ropes binding her, I shouted "Reverso," and in the middle of a writhe, her body flew, suddenly released, out of her chair to land in a disordered heap on my floor. She lay there, finally silent, twitching slightly. Snape lowered his wand, glanced around at me, and knelt beside her, peering into her half-closed eyes. "Barely conscious," he muttered, then looked up at me. "Satisfied?" he said. 

"Oh yes, very well done, Severus. I see your Cruciatus hasn't lost a bit of power – you have been practicing on the Gryffindors after class, I hope?" I laughed at the jest, but he just gave me one of his odd looks. "Well, Lucius, you've caused me enough problems for one evening. I'll take Viviane off your hands and Apparate as close as I can get to Hogwarts, then try to think of some way to keep her from destroying my career and your family." 

I laughed. The thrill of using one of the Great Curses again had obviously turned his head. "My dear Severus, as wonderful as your Cruciatus was, there is one last task I must request from your wand." I placed a hand under his elbow to help him back to his feet, and nodded toward the inert Viviane. "Obliviate her. Make sure you hold the spell long enough so that she doesn't recall a thing about the last, oh, five hours. That should do it." I picked up her cloak from the chair on which she'd tossed it and rifled through the pockets. Sure enough, the stupid woman had thrust my invitation into one of them. I tossed this last bit of evidence on the fire. 

To my infinite amusement, Snape looked shocked. "Obliviate?" He glanced down at her and made a movement as if to kneel back down beside her, then forced a laugh. "Of course. You are right, using the Cruciatus again was a heady business. It has scattered my thoughts." He ran a hand down his face and gazed intently at Viviane, who hadn't moved since he released her from the curse. _He's thinking up some tale of mishap and rescue in the Forbidden Forest to explain her condition, for which she'll gratefully reward him._ I realized. A quick string of delectable scenarios trooped across my imagination, and I envied him the experience. I would have made a much better job of both the tale and the reward. When I reluctantly banished my seductive vision, he was still standing next to me, looking down at her and fingering his wand. 

"Get on with it," I snapped. "I'm tired of looking at her, and want her out of my house." 

Taking a deep breath, Snape performed the spell, then we both struggled to haul the still-dazed witch to her feet, he clumsily reclasping the front of her gown before swathing her in her cloak. He managed to rest her head on his shoulder and holding her by the waist, prop her up before looking me sternly in the eye. "It's been interesting, Lucius, but I suggest you refrain from doing this sort of thing again," he said, unable to resist a final lecture. 

I refused to take the bait, and smiled as I handed him her wand and sword. "Keep her away from my son, and you won't need to worry," I said coolly. "Continue to enjoy her in good health. She's vastly entertaining, once you get past the scars." 

His flinch, just before Apparating, crowned an evening I would long remember, most of it with the greatest pleasure. The only thing to surpass it will be when she stands before me, a captive of myself and a gift to Lord Voldemort.   


~*~*~

Snape knocked on her door and said his name. His knuckles had barely left wood before he turned and stepped away, only to go back when he heard her call, "Come in, Severus." Reluctantly, he entered the room, closing the door and standing with his back against it. 

"Viviane?" he queried. Her usually rosy skin was colorless, made paler by the brilliantly patterned silk shawl she was wrapped in, and she seemed smaller and less confident than he had ever seen her. Huddled in the corner of the sofa, she smiled and held out a hand to him. Snape slumped infinitesimally against the door before approaching and pulling up a chair to sit next to her. 

Ignoring her hand, he leaned his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor. "Viviane, I'm sorry-" 

"Don't." 

He looked up at her interruption. 

"No apologies. The last thing I want to be is another item in your burden of remorse." 

He took one of her hands and began to idly play with it, tracing the lines on her palm and entwining her fingers with his. "Draco knows nothing. You shouldn't be risking your neck trying to get information from him that he does not have. I've been mixed up with that family for years, and I know-" 

"No, you don't." Her quiet tone made him frown and tilt his head at her. "I grew up in a house like that, corrupt and dark and full of secrets children aren't supposed to know. As a child in the middle of it all, the only way to survive in that environment is to listen at doors, to hide, to _find out_ just what it is you'll be thrown into, come adulthood. Draco knows much, including perhaps information that might tell us when and where they'll first attack." 

"Ah. I see. I'd rather not have to rescue you through a Cruciatus Curse next time." 

Viviane grinned at him. "It takes a brave wizard to Crucio his lover. It takes a braver one not to Obliviate her afterward. You need to work on that Cruciatus, by the way. A little weak. Mortimer's…now _there_ was a Curse to remember." 

He slid off his chair to the sofa and placed his arms carefully about her, knowing how sore she was from the effects of the Cruciatus. _I've been tempted to use it on you before, my dear, but the Obliviate…never, and suddenly your trust has become far more important than I care for it to be. Than I ever wanted it to be._ "Did Lucius….were you…." 

She made a noise of protest, and he loosened the arms that had momentarily tightened on her body. "Raped? No. Not technically." She buried her head in his chest, burrowing into him with her head and right shoulder. Her voice had ended in a high tremble, and she paused to steady it before going on. "I may call upon you later in the week, though, to replace some bad memories with much more pleasant ones." 

"Any time," he said, and rubbed one cheek against her hair, then shifted slightly to repeat the gesture on the other side. He cleared his throat. "You withstood my Curse with remarkable fortitude." 

Viviane began to chuckle, her voice muffled from her head still being cuddled against him. "That's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me." 

"Really? It isn't very good, is it? I'm afraid I'm wretched at that sort of thing. But, let me try again." 

He leaned back to look at her, and slid his hands around to cup her face. "You were magnificent," he whispered. "Before, during, after. Now. Magnificent." 

Pulling her head gently forward and meeting her halfway, he placed his lips against hers with all the hesitancy and tenderness of a first kiss. 

End.   



End file.
